


The Mountebank's Elixir

by Maple



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Friendship, Gen, evil immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple/pseuds/Maple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange Immortal is hunting, and he's got a very peculiar way of killing. He's set his sights on a friend of Duncan and Methos, and now everyone is in danger!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mountebank's Elixir

"Have you ever noticed," asked the man in the long black coat, "that under normal circumstances, you don't actually receive all that vaunted knowledge that you were told you'd get when you took a head and absorbed a Quickening?"

"Mmmph," replied the man trussed up on the floor. There was a gag in his mouth, so even though he'd been begging and pleading for his life, his words weren't being heard, or even understood. Sweat popped out on his skin, making it slick, and he twisted his wrists frantically, obviously hoping it might allow him to slip free. 

"Probably not," said the man in the long black coat, answering himself. "I doubt you've even taken a head. You seem rather young." He bent down to peer at his captive. "But oh so talented. I heard you singing the other day. You have a lovely voice."

"Mmmph," said the man, his eyes wide. 

"Don't worry, you'll feel better in a moment," the man said. He brought a syringe over and injected it into a vein in his captive's arm. In a few moments, the trussed-up man's eyes closed drowsily and he stared at the man in the long black coat with a slight smile on his face. "There, that's better," said the man as he retrieved his sword. "It's the adrenaline that does it, you know. Ruins everything. I've been cataloguing its effects." 

The captive didn't respond except with a slow, lazy blink.

"All that fighting, it does all sorts of damage. It's much better when you're calm." The man checked his watch. "A few more minutes. I always wait at least five to make sure that all the adrenaline is flushed out." He hummed a few bars and shook his head. "Pitiful. I can't hold a note. " He rubbed at his throat. "But I soon will." He smiled. "Time's up." Then he swung his sword.

***** 

"What's up, Joe?" Methos asked. 

Joe looked up from the report he was reading and shook his head. "More Challenges," he said. 

Methos shrugged. "It's the way. Not a good way, I grant you. But it’s what everyone thinks they're supposed to do."

Joe sighed. "Yeah. But the recent spate has been a bunch of young ones. Three of them hadn't even taken a head."

"The younger they are, the less skilled. It's more dangerous to become Immortal these days than it used to be. Everyone is edgy."

Joe looked up. "The Gathering?" he asked. 

"MacLeod thinks so. I'm not so sure."

Joe looked down at the report in his hands. "I'm getting too old for this. These were just kids. None of them over a hundred."

Methos made himself look appropriately sympathetic, but he must not have pulled it off genuinely enough because Joe frowned at him. 

"Ah, what do you care," Joe grumbled. 

"I care," Methos said. "Is someone just getting lucky? Or are they stalking them?

"You care because you're concerned about your own head."

"Absolutely. I'm rather attached to it." Methos gave him a fleeting smile and Joe smiled in return. 

"We don't know," Joe said. "Only one of them had a Watcher. We haven't identified the other Immortal."

Methos narrowed his eyes. "Interesting," he said. His internal warning system, the one that had almost never failed him, had just pinged. When it felt that something was `interesting', it usually meant that things were going to be a damn sight miserable all around.   
*****  
He shifted farther back into the shadows, his eyes on his prey. 

She was small, petite in a pretty way, and so slim that she looked as if she were quite tall. 

Ordinarily, he wouldn't have bothered with her. Her skill set was quite small, and she was older than he was, and that increased the risk. But she had one particular skill that he desired, which made her worth stalking. 

She paused, on the street, and looked around, as if sensing him. 

He was too far away for their signatures to clash and for her to know he was there, but she was old, and astute. He didn't dare to move. He was already in the shadows, and any movement might draw her eye. 

Instincts he had gleaned from several other kills swam sharply through his blood, telling him what to do, what not to do, and so he remained as still as a statue. After a long moment, she finally started walking again. The acquired urges took a moment to bank down, and then he took a deep breath and was ready to stalk again.

Oh, yes, he thought. He would enjoy taking her abilities into himself. 

He didn't bother to follow her. He knew where she was going, so he turned and went the other way. 

Tonight was not the night, in any case. He was still digesting, as it were, his previous acquirement. 

He slipped down the alley and to the street one block behind, leaving his newest target to herself for at least one night more. Singing to himself, in a pleasant tenor, he proceeded to cover his favorite songs. 

It felt good to finally be in tune, after centuries of croaking like a toad. 

****** 

"Joe told me you thought the Gathering was upon us," Methos said casually as he wiped the back of his neck with a towel after sparing with MacLeod for the better part of the afternoon. He glanced to the windows. It had grown quite dark outside, the afternoon slithering away into night. 

MacLeod snorted. "He hears what worries him most. I told him I'd heard a rumor, and he turns it into solid opinion."

"He does worry," Methos said. He wasn't entirely sure that MacLeod wasn't putting a spin on his words, but he wouldn't confront the man over it. Joe had been pretty sure about it. Methos wandered away from MacLeod and then said, as if absently, "He mentioned a few recent Challenges in the area."

MacLeod's eyes went stony and hard. "Not me," he said. 

Methos sighed. "I never said it was you. Just because there's a Challenge on the side-streets of Seacouver it doesn't mean either of us was involved. I just thought that you might know something about them because you tend to know people." Methos threw the towel into the dirty linens bag. Whatever itch had gotten under MacLeod's skin, he wanted no part of it. The sparring had been nice, and good to keep up his skills, but he didn't need to play psychotherapist to MacLeod's recent spate of emotional woe and ennui. "Later, MacLeod." He could feel MacLeod's stare on the back of his neck, weighty and intense, but he shook it off. 

He'd head down to Joe's and grab a beer and see if there was any news he needed to become aware of.

***** 

The morning mists were rising off the dewy grasses and hanging in the air like the tendrils of ghostly shrouds. The distance was obscured into a haze and it felt as if the entire world were swathed in cotton. The road was slick and black, as if wet after a rain. 

The Immortal in the long black coat sat in his car just around the corner and sipped at his coffee. Dawn was breaking slowly and he felt entirely alive and ready. He checked his watch. Any minute now. 

He went back to watching the area around the bus stop. The timing here was of the utmost importance. He’d sat here before, waiting and watching, and the timing had not yet gone perfectly. He wasn’t in any hurry, though. He could afford to wait. This was a scheme designed to last for the long term. It was better to be careful and cautious than to risk his own safety. 

The runner rounded the corner, at the very end of his run. He was sweaty and tired, having gone at least four miles, as he did nearly every day of the week. The Immortal in the long black coat knew this because he’d been hunting this prey for several weeks now. He knew when he came and went, where he bought his groceries, the days he tended to work late, his favorite bar. People were creatures of habit. They took the same routes to and from places, met the same people, shopped at the same locations. There would be a few variances here and there, as all routines shifted and shaped to meet new needs and drop old ones, but these usually happened quite slowly.

He touched his chest, over his heart. He was a runner, but not a good one. Even a few miles set his heart to racing and blood pounding in his ears. He didn’t have that inner sense of pacing, nor of mental stamina to endure the long, lonely miles. But his prey did. The man had run marathons. He ran in races long and short, and seemed to go out in the worst weather elements just for the pure joy of running. 

The Immortal shifted his car into drive and eased slowly forward. There were no other cars around. Dawn was just still kissing the sky and lightening it. With his eyes on his prey, who had slowed from his jog to a recovering walk, he brought the car closer. He licked his lips. 

Then another runner appeared from the opposite direction--a girl, with a long blonde ponytail and bright pink clothing. “Hey, Henry!” she called. “Good run today?” She bounced on her toes as his prey neared her, and the Immortal in the long black coat kept driving along, not even glancing sideways. He was far enough away that the other Immortal didn’t sense him, and he drove away sedately. 

There would always be tomorrow. 

***** 

“Want to go to dinner tonight?” MacLeod asked him over the phone. 

“Sure,” Methos answered. He got off the bar stool and headed for the door. The cold outside air washed over him, but it was quiet outside and he could hear MacLeod better. “You’re paying.”

“There will be a friend of mine coming along.”

“A friend?” Methos kicked at a stone that was on the ground and it skittered away under a car. “What sort of friend?”

“One of us.”

Methos snorted. “I bet she’s very pretty.”

“Very,” MacLeod confirmed. 

“I think I’ll take a rain check. You know I’m the shy, retiring sort.”

“That’s one way to describe it.” MacLeod’s tone left no doubt that he was making a derisive observation about Methos’ lack of bravery and abysmal social skills. “But not necessary in this case. I believe you know her. Olivia.”

“Olivia,” Methos repeated, but he was allowing a smile to stretch out across his face. “I didn’t know she was in town.”

“Joe hasn’t been keeping you well enough informed.”

“Joe takes his oath very seriously. Apparently I haven’t been checking the recent database changes closely enough.” Methos leaned against the wall and took a deep breath of the cold air, which reminded him only vaguely of the fresh mountain air he’d breathed in the last time he’d seen Olivia. “Okay, then. I’ll come to dinner. You’re still paying.”

“Of course.” 

***** 

He retreated to his home. 

The city was too busy at the moment, and he was a patient man. His prey would become available at some moment, at some vulnerable point. There was no need to rush. Eventually they would be his and he would take their skills and abilities into himself, and he would strengthen. 

He went to check his supplies. The vials were still present and untouched. 

He latched the box and moved away. It was time to work out. Just because he took the strengths of his prey didn’t mean he could be complacent. There was always the risk of coming across another Immortal and having to engage in traditional combat. He would avoid that as much as possible, but the risk remained. He was compelled to train to maintain his own security. 

He had taken the head of a truly celebrated fighter a long time ago. Well before he had discovered his current system, and the way of truly taking another’s essence into himself. It had been a horrible waste. Of course, he hadn’t been a better fighter. Not at all. He’d only been lucky. It could far more easily have been his own head rolling that day. But it had not been. He had felt his opponent’s energies enter him, all that power and knowledge, bursting him at the seams. Yet, it hadn’t stayed. It had flooded through him, over him, and then washed away, leaving a tantalizing taste lingering in him, mocking him. All that wasted knowledge and skill, gone forever, locked away. All because the circumstances hadn’t been correct. The other Immortal had been fired up, brimming with adrenaline and fighting energy. 

He regretted the waste. He should have that knowledge, it should be his. Instead it was locked away, unusable and useless. What good was it to defeat your opponent if all that they were was washed down the drain? It made no sense whatsoever. 

He supposed that at some point the system had become corrupted. Perhaps they were never meant to fight each other. Perhaps all the Immortals should have devised a system, somehow, to tell who would take who, but then lay down their lives at the appropriate time and moment. Each taking and building until the final one would exist. 

Of course, he had no illusions. Even given such a system, what would his chances have been to be the ultimate survivor? Pretty slim. It would have appeared so to everyone involved, and hence, the breakdown of that type of system and the free-for-all fighting that they were all now engaged in. 

It seemed to him at the moment that the other Immortals had no idea what they were missing. That with each challenge they survived, that incredible potential was lost. That suited him just fine. Let him be the only one who knew. 

He had as much time as they, and he knew better how to use it. With each opponent defeated now, he gathered their talents to himself. Soon he would be more than the equal of any of them. Soon he would be more powerful than he had ever imagined. 

He sighed. Until then, which seemed a long way off, he would have to still do his exercises. 

And so he began a series of push-ups and squat drills. 

***** 

Methos sauntered toward the restaurant, feeling the thrum of Immortal presence as he got closer. Two figures peeled away from the waiting throng outside the door and waved to him. One was MacLeod, easily identified by his squared shoulders and proud carriage. The other--

“Olivia!” Methos was so glad to catch sight of her. It had been far too long since he’d seen her. “How are you?” She was still the beautiful woman he’d met so long ago. Her hair was longer now than he’d ever seen it, but still as curly as ever. She’d obviously streaked a few grey hairs into it, because she’d first died far too young to have any of the sort. She was still tiny and slim, with the broad shoulders and flat waist of a swimmer. A string of pearls lay at her throat, lustrous against her smooth skin. Methos had first met her down in the Caribbean, her home turf, and she’d spent many hours teaching him how to free dive. He’d never attained her skill, but then again, she’d been doing it since nearly from when she could walk. 

“Ben!” she said and dropped MacLeod’s arm to give him a hug. “Well enough.” There was a dark look in her eyes that didn’t bode well. 

“Adam now,” he said. 

“Of course. You never could keep a name longer than a fortnight.”

He snorted. “Hardly. I only switch them once a decade.”

Olivia turned an amused glance to MacLeod. “Some of us like our own identities.”

Methos rolled his eyes. MacLeod was always MacLeod and Olivia was always Olivia. Of course, between the two of them, they still needed another few hundred years to reach a millennium, so he wasn’t going to lecture. Eventually they’d each learn their limits. He switched topics. “MacLeod tells me you live in town now.”

“I moved in a few months ago.” A considering look came onto her face, as if she was about to add something, but then the small pager Macleod had been given started to buzz. 

“Dinner time,” he said, holding it up. “Our table must be ready.”

They met up with the hostess at the front of the restaurant and were escorted to their table. As they moved amongst the crowd and then took their seats, their conversation turned to incidentals, their lives at the moment, and generically mentioned tidbits about the past. None of them were willing to risk being overheard. Methos smiled at his two friends, sure that there would be drinking later at MacLeod’s place, with time enough to speak upon personal matters. 

Olivia flashed him a look, and he caught the questioning, hidden design in it. She had something to talk about, and he was most interested to hear it. 

***** 

After finishing his workout, he took a shower, washing away the grime of the day and the sweat of hard work. He spent a moment to assess his physique in the mirror after toweling dry. He would have wished for slightly more bulk to his muscles, as he tended toward thin and wiry, but he appreciated his height. Neither too tall nor too short. His features were handsome, but not exceptionally so. He could hide in a crowd. He could dress up or dress down. His hair was a plain, dull brown color and his eyes were an uninteresting muddled shade of hazel. The skin of his face was perhaps a tad too tight, since he was thin. He would have to make sure to eat slightly more than he had been. A fat Immortal was a dead immortal, but he could stand to gain five pounds. He twisted around in the mirror and frowned at himself. He still needed to work on flexibility. He could feel the tightness of his muscles in his lower back and hamstrings. That was unacceptable. 

Eschewing sleep, he dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt and got out his yoga mat. It was time to stretch. 

 

*****

“So, are you going to enlighten us, or do we have to drink the entire bottle of burgundy first?” Methos asked as he sipped at his second glass of red wine. MacLeod had a wonderful memory for the types of drinks that his friends preferred. It meant that MacLeod kept his fridge well stocked with beer when Methos was in town, but not too much else. Methos did enjoy when he brought out some other delicacy for enjoyment. Olivia had exquisite taste in wines, and MacLeod’s wine ‘cellar’ had been opened and scrounged through to provide several vintage bottles that Methos was sure would never have been opened just for him. 

Olivia gave a light laugh and sipped her wine, closing her eyes just for a moment to obviously cherish the flavor. “Excellent wine, Duncan. Thank you.” Duncan gave her a smile and a nod. Then she focused on Methos again with a slightly apologetic smile. “I feel a bit silly, actually. Sitting here, drinking wine with both of you, I am starting to think it is all my imagination.”

“What is?” Duncan asked. 

Olivia frowned as she concentrated to bring up a description. “Lately I’ve started to feel as if I’ve been stalked. Not an Immortal, I don’t think. I haven’t sensed anyone. I suppose it could be a mortal, or just an Immortal who has kept his or her distance. I just—“ She shivered. “I’ve been getting these creepy feelings.”

Duncan looked immediately concerned. “Have you seen anything out of the normal?” he asked. 

Methos sipped at his wine. Olivia had always been unusually perceptive, but much of it had come out in feelings, not direct observation. Knowing her, he was sure that whatever she was sensing was real. She was being watched. The question was, was it a Watcher doing a piss-poor job, or something far more dangerous?

“No, not really,” Olivia said. “I’ve just been feeling on edge and antsy. I feel like I know someone is there, watching me, but then whoever it is goes away.” She put her wine glass down. “I was hoping that perhaps the one or both of you would help investigate.”

“Investigate?” Duncan asked. “How?”

“The feelings aren’t random. Whoever it is has a few favorite places. I get the creepy feeling around the same time or place. If you were to be stationed there, when I went through, you could perhaps find out who it was.” She squared her shoulders. “Then I could deal with it.” Her voice was cold, and Methos knew that she certainly was more than capable of handling her own affairs. She gave a shake of her head to dispel the coldness. “And if no one is there, then at least I’ll know I’m just imagining things.”

“I hardly think you’re imagining things,” Methos said, and Olivia gave him a grateful smile. 

“I agree,” Duncan said. “We’ll find out who it is.” He shot a glance to Methos and he knew they were both thinking the same thing. They’d contact Joe first and make sure it wasn’t some inept Watcher who needed to get retrained or reassigned. 

“But for right now,” Methos said, and he raised his glass in a salute, “let’s enjoy the rest of this wine.”

***** 

The Immortal in the long black coat sat in his car, once again watching the area around the bus stop. He frowned in disappointment when he saw his prey and the pretty blonde girl round the corner. They were both jogging with long strides, heels hitting the pavement in tandem and arms pumping. The routine had changed now. He would pay attention for a few more mornings, to see if perhaps it would not last, but the opportunity of obtaining this Immortal would be slim at this point. Far better to reassess the Immortal’s habits and choose another time to target him. 

He waited for them to part and go their separate ways and then he put his car into gear and drove away. There was still the other one. 

He often spent long periods of time observing several different prospective Immortals. He liked to minimize his risk as much as possible, for as great a reward as possible. Sometimes he had to chide himself. There were Immortals he had hunted purely for vanity. Once, he’d even taken a man’s head because he possessed immaculate table manners. Surely the skill was indispensable, and could afford him access to social circles he had not yet entered, but he even had to admit to himself that the gain was petty, while the loss of the man’s life was substantial to the man. 

These two Immortals that he currently hunted, however, were not inconsequential at all. The long-distance aerobic capabilities of the man would be indispensable. That talent coupled with the diminutive woman’s skill, and he would far out-class many opponents. Just for an experiment, he took several long deep breathes, and then a final one and held it. He stared at his watch as the seconds ticked by. One minute. One and a half. His lungs were on fire. He could hold it no longer, and he gasped out and then in again. One minute forty-two. It wasn’t half bad, but neither was it good. He’d never trained at it. Why should he? If he took the Immortal woman’s head, he would know exactly what to do, and how to do it. Perhaps he would have to train his body, as she had developed her own, to sustain what was asked of it, but he would be starting far, far ahead of where his natural body’s inclinations lay. 

Hungry now for the knowledge and ability, licking his lips in anticipation, he decided to scout out the area where the woman was most likely to be later on tonight. He had almost gone after her several times already. He hoped tonight that all would align. 

*****

Methos watched Olivia park her car in the lot and then walk along the street. 

MacLeod should be on the other side of the street, also keeping watch. 

Olivia had described her usual routine for the evening. After working for the day at the exercise studio, where she taught swimming lessons to children and dance classes to adults, and took on a few very special protégés that had the potential to become world class swim competitors, she would usually walk a few blocks to one of her favorite restaurants, or to the grocery store, before going home for the evening. 

Methos walked smoothly behind a truck, keeping Olivia in his sights. It was tricky to stay far away from her, so that neither she nor her elusive pursuer would feel his presence, especially on the crowded street. However, the next two blocks seemed to magically evaporate other people. Suddenly, Olivia was walking alone. Methos’ skin prickled. This was the location that he would have chosen for an ambush. He looked around carefully, but there were shadows everywhere in the dim evening light. There were a dozen or more places for someone to hide. 

Olivia paused in her walk and looked around, clearly trying to pinpoint something—that ever-useful feeling of being watched, Methos suspected. It stood her in good stead. 

Methos slunk carefully along, dividing his attention between Olivia and the crevices where someone might hide. The person could be on his side of the street, or MacLeod’s. There was no way to tell until they found him. Flushing him (or perhaps her) out would be just the first step. Methos couldn’t imagine a good reason for stalking Olivia, so he was more than certain that conflict would result. He was ready for it. 

He took another step and the prickle of Immortal signature rushed down his spine. He looked and found a shadowy figure staring at him from the driver’s side of a parked car. Clever. Perfect sightlines, and easy access to intercepting Olivia as she walked. 

Methos caught only a fragment of the man’s face, for it was mostly hidden in shadow, but he memorized the features. 

The man grinned at him, and then his car was pulling away. It had no rear license plate, and Methos took only a step forward, as if to run him down on foot, but then stopped. 

MacLeod ran across the street to join him. “Was that him?”

“Yes,” Methos said. “Time to go see Joe, and figure out who it was, and what he wants.”

“I think we both know what he wants,” MacLeod said grimly. 

Olivia had joined them now. Her face had a pinched, determined look. “Whatever he wants,” she said, obviously having heard MacLeod’s statement, “it isn’t a fair Challenge.”

*****  
As the Immortal in the long black coat sped away in his car he couldn’t help but feel the twin energies of fear at discovery and elation at seeing another potential prey. 

He had never thought that the woman Immortal was easy pickin’, but she had shown herself more formidable than he’d thought. It would mean that his strategy for taking her would require reformulation. He felt a thrum of frustration. Both of his intended targets had thwarted him this week. He took several deep, calm breaths and reminded himself that he had all the time in the world. If he went underground, and stayed at a monastery for a year, he would emerge no less far ahead. There was no rush, he repeated to himself. There was no rush. 

His strategy was based on stealth, and on patience. He had to remember that the endgame was most likely very far off into the future. Already there were Immortals who had lived incredibly long lives. If he wanted to survive, and to thrive, then he needed to rely on his commonsense as well as his wits. So far, his hunches had paid off, and being cautious had kept his head attached. The Game was played on many levels. Both short term and long term strategies needed to be deployed. 

He turned his attention to the tall, sharp-eyed Immortal that had caught a glance at him. He didn’t know him, but if he had been brought in to assist, then there was a great likelihood that he possessed some interesting skill that could prove useful. 

It was time to back down, slink away, and take stock of the entire situation once again. He would do some research, and perhaps he would alter his plans. This new Immortal might prove far more useful than the other two he had been watching. 

*****

“No, his face was more round,” Methos said as he stared down at the computer screen where Joe was scrolling through pictures of Immortals. 

“Don’t you remember anything else about him?” Joe asked, his voice frustrated. 

“I saw him for only a moment,” Methos said as he mused over the next picture, comparing the shape of the chin to the memory in his head. “I couldn’t even tell you the color of his eyes.” He pointed at the picture. “This might be him.”

Joe scribbled the name down onto the list he was maintaining. “I thought you guys had perfect recall,” he grumbled. “This is number seven.”

“I have near perfect recall,” Methos said. “But I can’t recall what I didn’t see in the first place.” He stopped looking at the screen and put a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Joe, if he was a major player, I’d have known him right away.”

That seemed to calm Joe down, if only a fraction. “Where are Mac and Olivia?” he asked as he pressed the keys and moved on to another section of the database. Photos and summaries slid by in a slow procession.

“MacLeod’s doing some investigating of his own. He thinks that if this guy has been stalking Olivia for any length of time that there might be video of him. There’s a bank in the area, and a convenience store. Olivia’s gone with him. People are a lot more empathetic to a petite, young looking woman than to a burly Scot.” 

“I’ll bet,” Joe said wryly. 

“Hold it,” Methos said and stared at the photo on the screen. “That might be him. Something about the shape of his ear seems right.” 

Methos watched as Joe scribbled down the name, and then pressed more keys to keep the photos coming. 

“We should also review all the Challenges in this area for the last year.”

Joe narrowed his eyes and nodded thoughtfully. “Good idea. Mac just returned to town a few weeks ago after being in Paris. I wasn’t paying as much attention to this sector.”

“Something might pop out at us,” Methos agreed, and kept his eyes focused on the cascade of photos, searching for anything that seemed even remotely similar to the shadowed face he’d seen last night. 

***** 

The Immortal in the long black coat was parked far back in the parking lot near the bar. He had waited around the area where the female Immortal lingered and, sure enough, she and another man were canvassing the area, going into stores and talking with people. It felt strange to suddenly be on the prey end of the equation. There was an element of danger now to the situation. They knew he existed and were looking for him. He could guess that the bulky man with the female Immortal was most likely Immortal himself. That meant three Immortals total. He knew what resources the woman possessed, but not yet what the two new male Immortals held within themselves. 

He had no doubt that fighting any of the three might lead to his own death. The point was not to have to fight them. He still intended to snatch them from the streets and take them away. Fighting them did no good—even if he won, all that potential knowledge and skill was lost. Lost forever. 

No, there was too much danger at the moment. He would not continue to stalk any of the three Immortals. It was too risky. 

But yet, neither did he feel the need to fade completely into the background. This was the time for research. 

He raised his camera with the expensive zoom lens and took photos of the two Immortals as they entered the bar. 

He had watched them go through the previous area, obviously looking for information on him, and he had followed them here. Now he knew one of their secrets. He doubted very much that they knew very many, or even any, of his. He was very careful, although he knew he was not flawless. He would have to assume that they were gathering some information on him, and hope that it was mostly useless. 

It probably wouldn’t matter. He did not intend to take on any of them, at least not for the time being. No. It was always a waiting game. He would wait as long as necessary. 

Besides. If the two new male Immortals didn’t possess any useful skills, there was no need to engage with them. The woman he could find again at a later time, when she was not so on edge and wary. 

The door opened again and another figure stepped out. The Immortal from the previous night. The one that had seen his face. He lifted his camera again and started taking pictures. He would follow him and see where he led. 

 

***** 

“Mac!” Joe said as Olivia and MacLeod entered the bar. “Any luck?”

Methos wheeled around and leaned against the wall, waiting for the answer. He and Joe had skimmed through nearly the entire Watcher database and had come up with a short list of possible Immortals, but he hoped that MacLeod and Olivia’s investigations would prove more fruitful. 

MacLeod shook his head. “No. Almost everyone uses video. Or should I say reuses.” He looked frustrated and haggard. 

“Reuses?” Joe asked. 

“He means that there’s footage, but none of it is useful,” Methos supplied, catching MacLeod’s eye. “Video tape breaks down. The more it is reused and reused again, the more fuzzy it gets.”

“Crap,” Joe spat. 

MacLeod flapped a few printouts down on the table. They were mainly dark and blobby, showing the vague shape of a car and of a human figure driving, but all the details bled into each other. “That’s the best we could get.”

“Please tell me you had more luck,” Olivia said as she sat down in the chair opposite Joe. She slipped a shoe off and began massaging one foot. “Because I’m tired of trying to play Sam Spade. It isn’t what the movies make it out to be.”

“Some,” Methos said. He slid the list of names toward Olivia. “Do you recognize any of these?”

She looked the list over. “Not a one.” She lifted her dark eyes to meet his. “You can’t say it could be any of these? There are a dozen names!”

“Does anyone want coffee?” Joe asked suddenly, and Methos was grateful for the distraction. At least he didn’t have to tell Olivia out-right that they were barely any closer than they had been previously. 

“Definitely,” Olivia said with a knowing sigh. 

“Please,” said MacLeod. 

Methos glanced to his own coffee cup, from which he’d already had four drinks over the course of the afternoon. “I think I’m done.” He shrugged into his coat. “Let’s call it a day and meet together again in the morning. Perhaps sleeping on it will help our brains remember something that’ll turn out to be useful.” He gave MacLeod a nod. “See you back at the loft.” Staying on MacLeod’s couch wasn’t the most comfortable of spots, but it was much cheaper than a hotel, and he was still living under Adam Pierson’s financial guidelines. 

It wasn’t too far a walk, and Methos gave Olivia a kiss on the cheek before heading out. “Keep your head down,” he said. 

“You too,” she whispered back into his ear. 

Then, he left the group behind, and went home, ready to crash for the night. 

 

***** 

The Immortal in the long black coat sat in his car, perfunctorily watching the area around the bus stop. His jogging Immortal had been running with his blonde companion every day this week, so he really had no expectations that anything would be different this morning, but he knew that if he wanted this prey, then he had to put in the surveillance hours. When he wasn’t here, he couldn’t learn the patterns and rhythms of the man’s life. Eventually, he would need to tease apart this knowledge and look for where the opportunities lay to capture the man. He could watch the jogger and keep his mind churning on the pricklier problem of what was going on with the two Immortal helpers surrounding his female Immortal. 

He had photographs of them and had contacted a few of his acquaintances—even he had a few Immortal friends. Eventually they might meet on the battlefield, but until then, he had no plans to go after them. Not when there were so many other fish in the sea, and it was useful to have contacts. Such a time as now exemplified that. He needed information, and they had resources and contacts and memories that he might not be able to assimilate, and real-world mechanisms that he could never incorporate. He was playing a waiting game now, hoping they would know something pertinent about the two unknown male Immortals. 

He watched the bus stop—his jogger was slowly coming into view. His blonde companion was nowhere to be seen. This was fortuitous. 

He gave a complete scan to the neighborhood. Nobody was stirring. All was quiet. There was a very high chance of success. 

He checked his taser, and slowly exited his car. The problem was the damned early warning system that all Immortals had in their heads. He couldn’t sneak up on anyone. 

The jogging Immortal pulled up short as the ringing in his head started and he turned to face the Immortal in the long black coat. His eyes narrowed and he took a step to sprint away, obviously not concealing a sword on himself as he ran around the neighborhood. 

He activated the taser, and the man was shocked into submission. He went down like a ton of bricks. The Immortal grabbed him by the arms—no need to worry about abrasions at this point—and hauled him over to the car. He stuffed him in the back seat and quickly gave him a shot of his own private concoction. It would keep the Immortal down for hours. 

He had been on the street less than a minute total, and it was early enough in the day that no one should have seen what happened. 

Nearly giddy with relief and joy, he slowly drove away. 

***** 

“You look frustrated,” Macleod commented over Methos’ shoulder. 

Methos looked up from the computer screen to scowl at Macleod. “How observant of you.” He waved a hand at the screen. “I keep reviewing the photos of the possible Immortals, but I just can’t tell which one of them it could be. If any of them.” He tapped a few keys and brought up a long narrative. “I’ve also been checking all the reports. Keeping up with all the newest ones being posted, and back tracking through the older ones.”

“Looking for clues?” Macleod guessed. 

“Yes. He must have slipped up somewhere. Left a few more clues about himself. It’s just a matter of recognizing them when I see them.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” MacLeod walked to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot, then frowned at it. “This is sludge. How long has this been on the burner?”

“I don’t remember. I made it early this morning.”

“It is early now,” he retorted. MacLeod made a face and dumped the coffee down the drain. “I’m going out to get a cappuccino. Try not to give yourself double vision from staring at the screen so hard.”

Methos made a rude gesture at him. “Try not to lose your head while you’re out there,” he said back, flippantly, but also earnest underneath it. The last thing he wanted was for some sneaky Immortal out there to get the drop on MacLeod. Methos had few enough friends as it was. The thought, as well as the potential danger to Olivia and himself, spurred him on to load up another report and start reading again with more vigor. 

*****

“Oh, hello, how’re you feeling?”

The Immortal’s head lolled around on his neck as he tried to keep his eyes open and his attention on the Immortal in the long black coat. A soft moan escaped from him. 

“Good. Good. In a few minutes you should be awake enough to receive the next dose.”

The man moaned again. 

“I am sorry. Really sorry.” The Immortal in the long black coat knelt down in front of the man he had kidnapped off the street. The runner. The man was lean with well-defined muscles, long and sinewy. A runner’s body. The man in the long black coat put his hand out and pressed it against the other man’s chest. He could feel his heart beating, feel him breathing in and out. A cardiovascular system trained to run, lungs trained to expand. He wouldn’t be able to take it all in, wouldn’t assimilate decades worth of training into his own body. No. His own body would not significantly alter because he took this Immortal’s head, although he also knew that sometimes certain things *would* change. They tended to be subtle, but he had noticed them previously. A slight thickening on his hand where calluses had been on another’s. A propensity to be more flexible when he once couldn’t have managed to reach his toes. Sudden balance, when before his inner ear had always failed him and he hadn’t known how to control his body. 

He would have to train his own body, but all the precursors would be there. And the slightest changes that would nudge him forward, making him greater and better than he had been before. 

“It’s the easiest way I could find to do this,” he said, the speech not quite an apology. He didn’t like having to kill others, but it was the only way to ensure that he would thrive, would be able to defend himself when others came looking for him. The Game was set up to be destructive. He was only trying his best to survive it. “The drugs block the adrenaline. These are heavy narcotics. You really shouldn’t feel very much at all, and I will make it as quick as I can. I promise. And thank you. For your skills. I’ve never been very good at running long distances. Or sprinting really. But it’s certainly a skill that will help me survive.” He injected the man with his drug cocktail. “It takes a few minutes and you’ll just get sleepy.”

He waited for the proper moment, and then acted. 

***** 

After a long morning of meditating and trying to find a calm center while the world seemed to be moving more toward chaos with every heartbeat, Methos picked up his cell phone. “Hello?”

It was Joe. “One of my Watchers just turned in a final report. An Immortal got tasered and taken off the street. He was taken to a warehouse and half an hour later there was a Quickening.”

“That must be our guy. Sneaky. Seems to be playing by his own set of rules.”

“Yeah. Anyway. My guy has photos. Want to come down and take a look?”

“I’m on my way.” 

 

*****

The Immortal had shed his long black coat, but not his weapons. He carried a short sword down his back, hidden by his sweatshirt, and a gun in a thigh holster, hidden under his sweatpants, but accessible through a slit in his pocket. It was about as lightly armed as he ever got. It made him a bit nervous, he liked to have a wide array of weapon choices available, but he was far more excited about the run he was about to go on. 

After the recent Quickening, his mind was awash in new and vast knowledge. He was cataloguing his aches and pains, his muscles sore from previous days of training, in an entirely different way. He knew what he needed to do to train better, harder, smarter. He also suddenly understood how to breathe properly. In through the nose, out through mouth. How had he never understood before how it would enhance his running? His whole body strained to begin running. He could feel his fitness, his strength and endurance. He finished tying his trainers and pushed up and forward. 

He pumped his arms as he fell into an easy stride. The ground seemed to fly beneath his feet. His breathing was a beautiful rhythm in his ears. His balance as he ran was impeccable. Every foot strike was catalogued—too hard, too soft—pick up the pace, make a small jump over a crumbling patch of sidewalk. The Immortal loved the feel of his muscles exerting and the slightly winded way he felt as he pushed to go faster, then slowed down to a pace that he could sustain for long distances. He felt as if he could just run forever. That if he wanted, he could just stay outside, right now, and head east, and make it to the coast without stopping. He felt that there was nothing standing in his way but the long meditation of a distance run. 

He ran the usual route that he’d attempted numerous times before, as familiar to him as the back of his hand, but all the hallmarks of the run came more swiftly. He passed them with ease, feeling more and more confidant. The graffiti on the corner whizzed past, the bent road sign was behind him before he even blinked, and he passed the single, rotting glove in the gutter well before his breathing even became slightly strained. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he was done. He stood, heaving deep lungfuls of air, but not too tired, ready for more, at his own door. He glanced to his watch. Several minutes faster than he’d ever done that run before. 

He stared at his watch, processing the numbers, and then grinned. This was a skill above all skills. 

Now he just had to add a few others. A few coveted skills that would make him even more fierce-some and unbeatable. He thought of the other Immortals and the thrill of the chase thrummed inside him. There was so much work to do.

But first, he wanted to run that loop again. 

He picked up his feet and took to the streets, feeling as if he could nearly fly.

***** 

“So what do you think?” Joe asked. He waited for the answer with a grim look.

“This is him,” Methos said. He stared at the photo. The shape of the jaw line, the set of the eyes. There was no mistake. Overall the man was generally non-descript. Good-looking, but not handsome. Not too heavy, not too thin, although he was obviously in shape, with that hungry, lean, fighter’s look to him. “This is definitely him. Do you have a name?”

“Not yet.” Joe rubbed at his beard thoughtfully, and gave a heavy sigh. “I’ve got my guys on it. But we’ve never catalogued this Immortal before.”

Methos snorted. “Not unusual. We tend to fade into the background as much as we can. We give Watchers a run for their money when it comes to skulking through back alleyways.” Methos actually wasn’t sure when he’d done more back-alley hiding, as an Immortal, or when he’d been through the Academy. He’d been very lucky, and very good, to get through that without another Immortal accidentally calling him out. 

“No kidding.” Joe plucked the photo from Methos’ hands. He stared at it, narrowing his eyes. “If he’s been taking down the more recent Immortals I can’t imagine how we missed him. I might need to send everyone out to remedial training.”

“Don’t beat your guys up too badly, Joe. From what we’ve seen, this guy operates like a sneak. He incapacitates his victim before they realize they’re in danger, kidnaps them, and then beheads them at his convenience. It doesn’t sound like there’s ever been a formal Challenge. How would anyone know what he was if he wasn’t acting like an Immortal?”

“Maybe you’re right. But I need my Watchers to be better than that.” Joe stamped his fist down on the counter. “It’s easy to watch the ones like Mac who follow the rules. But a Watcher who doesn’t recognize an Immortal that isn’t following the rules could end up a dead Watcher. I don’t want any more blood. Not on my watch.”

“I know,” Methos said somberly. There were friends he still missed, from Watching gone wrong. He took the photo back and stared at it again. “We’ve got this one identified now. I think you can assume he’s dangerous and keep far away from him. I’d tell your man in the field to stay back, and don’t worry about a name. It doesn’t matter what he calls himself. MacLeod, Olivia, or I will deal with him.”

Joe smirked. “Female in the field,” he corrected. “I just call everyone ‘guy’. But she’s good. I’m not worried about her safety. It’s the other yahoos I’ve got. We seem to release them from the Academy younger and younger.”

“Who’re you calling young?” Methos laughed and after a second Joe started to laugh with him. He put the photo down on the counter. “Did you already call MacLeod?”

“Not yet. I wanted you to see the photo first in case it wasn’t the right Immortal.”

“We’d better call him and Olivia. Now that we know where his super secret hideout is, I think it’s time we went and brought him a housewarming present.”

“I’m guessing it won’t be a nice bottle of red,” Joe said. 

“It might be red,” Methos said darkly. “But I wouldn’t put it in a bottle.”

*****

 

The Immortal in the long black coat finished tucking away his weapons. After the running he’d done, which had been glorious and amazing, he felt much safer with his armory back in place. It was growing dark outside. Perfect timing to become the predator once more. 

He went out to his car and settled in, then drove to the location where he was most likely to be able to observe the female Immortal. It was risky. She was aware of his presence now, and that she was being hunted. She had at least two male Immortals assisting her. 

But he could be patient. There was no rush. He could just observe, to see what actions they would take, and then when they let down their guard, he could begin to plan again. 

She was too much of a prize to let slip away. Having the new ability to run coursing through his body was a reminder that he played for very high stakes. The woman’s skills at diving, swimming, and holding her breath for incredible amounts of time would be a fantastic edge. 

He parked the car and observed the street. He liked to watch people, so it was nearly half an hour later when he decided to try another location. The second location didn’t yield sight of the female Immortal either. 

He frowned and considered his options. 

His contacts had not yet gotten back to him about the possible identity of the male Immortals, so it was a little more risky than he generally liked it to be, but he saw no other option. He would have to go near the bar where he’d seen all of them. 

The Immortal in the long black coat drove over there slowly, thinking over the situation. He didn’t have particularly good intuition, but it had served him well on occasion. His instincts were not yet telling him to cut and run, but his logical mind was considering it. 

He parked in the farthest spot, and considered the distances. He was almost too far away to observe clearly, but he didn’t want to be any closer. The last thing he wanted was for them to be aware that he knew where they congregated. He did not want a confrontation with any of them unless it was one of his own choosing. 

Five minutes later he was rewarded. All three of them exited the bar. They went directly to a black old-style car. They had grim expressions and the Immortal’s gut-instincts finally kicked in. He decided to follow them at a very discreet distance. As the streets passed and the landscape became more familiar, he grew more concerned. At last, they pulled in at the warehouse where he kept his things. Somehow they had learned about him, far more than he had expected them to. That was not good. 

He kept going past the area and parked far away, hiding the car neatly behind some overgrown evergreen bushes. Then he took to his feet, glad to have his enhanced running talents, and found a good spot to observe from.

The three of them were inside for nearly an hour, and he thought perhaps they were planning to wait for him to return all night, when finally the three of them left. 

Suspicious, he continued to wait. Forty minutes later, one of them came back alone. This was the one that would wait for him to return, wait to issue the Challenge. 

The Immortal in the long black coat considered his options. Was this one ripe for the picking? Or should he run?

*****

“Ready?” 

“Let’s go.” Methos followed MacLeod outside. Olivia and Macleod had met him at Joe’s bar and they’d looked over the photos and the report. They’d all agreed that this Immortal had to be dealt with. Some Immortals followed the rules and some didn’t and Methos didn’t particularly care to go around being the Immortal police like MacLeod had a penchant for, but he could certainly recognize when a dangerous Immortal crossed his path and needed to be removed. The sniper attack that he employed meant constant danger, and that he was currently focused on Olivia got under Methos’ skin. He didn’t like his friends to be in the crosshairs. 

They went to MacLeod’s Thunderbird, with Olivia sitting in the back, her face grim and washed out in the dark. Her eyes were set like steel, however, and Methos had no doubt she could take care of herself. In fact, he hoped that she could be the one to relieve the mysterious Immortal of his head. It would be poetic justice. But if she couldn’t be, that was okay with him, too. Sometimes pragmatic was far better and poetry be damned. 

MacLeod slowed the car as they approached the warehouse. 

“I don’t feel him,” Olivia said.

“He might not be in residence,” MacLeod said. They exited the Thunderbird, and all three of them spent a moment to catalogue their senses, and the dangerous around them. 

Methos took an extra moment to scan the parking area, but he couldn’t see anything but a distant car driving past several blocks off. He supposed it could just be the gravity of the situation, but he wasn’t happy with how things were going. He was only a moment behind Macleod and Olivia, but he could see they were disappointed as he entered the building behind them. 

“ He’s not here,” Olivia said. Her sword was out and she used the tip of it to flip over the edge of a shirt that was laid across a chair. Then she flipped it back with a slightly raised eyebrow in Methos’ direction. She wouldn’t leave any trace that she’d been here. 

“He’s got more weapons than you do, Adam,” MacLeod observed as he walked past a wall that was splayed out with various hooks and catches, most holding guns, magazines, knives, various swords, and other sundry items. 

Methos glanced at it and snorted. “Hardly.” He saw the small refrigerator under a counter. “What’s this?”

“For all his energy drinks,” Olivia said with a laugh, but she didn’t turn away. “Open it.”

Methos did and frowned. He reached in and took out the vials, reading over the contents. 

“What is it?”

“Narcotics. Potent narcotics.”

“Drug addict?” MacLeod asked, his voice tight. He was circling the room, taking in all the details.

“I don’t think so. These are odd combinations.” Methos took out a small notebook and scribbled down the contents. “I’ll look into this.” Something itched at the back of his brain. A small thought. He had to talk to Joe. 

“He isn’t here,” Olivia said. “Do we wait?”

“A little while,” Macleod said. “We should get to know our enemy. Look over these things. See what else we can learn.”

“And then?”

“Leave no trace. We’ll come back tomorrow morning. Or tomorrow night. Eventually he’ll be here, and we’ll deal with him.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes, clearly not pleased to have to wait, but then sheathed her sword. “Okay. Let’s see what secrets he’s got hidden.”

Methos joined in the search, keeping his attention heightened to know if anyone approached—mortal or Immortal—but the night remained quiet. Eventually, after rummaging carefully through useless piles of clothing and somewhat useful piles of paperwork he drew close to the door. “We should go,” he said. 

Olivia agreed. “Tomorrow,” she said. She put a piece of paper down exactly where she’d found it. “But at least we know his name now.”

“Or current alias,” Methos said. The back of his neck was itching. He wanted them to all get away from the building. 

“Let’s go ask Joe if he’s ever heard of him,” MacLeod said, and they followed him out. 

 

***** 

The Immortal in the long black coat did not move from his hiding place. 

Eventually, he knew, the Immortal waiting inside his home would have to come out. And eventually, he would be there with a greeting. He fingered the controls on his stun-gun. 

He was more annoyed than angered about the invasion of his privacy. With his head still attached, he had every option in the world left to him. He meant to keep it that way. 

But this little plum was ripe for the picking, and if the circumstances remained in his favor, he would have more skills added. So, since he really didn’t have anything better to do than skulk in the bushes, hiding far enough away that his Immortal signature could not be felt, he stayed there. He watched, and he waited. 

Eventually, the little duckling would have to come out. He would be there. 

Or, he would let the opportunity pass, and he would see the sunshine of tomorrow morning. 

***** 

“Joe,” Methos said. “Take a look at this list.”

“Hunnh,” Joe said as he took the paper into his hands. He glanced at it up and down, then frowned and looked at the list again, this time with a harder look. “What is this? Are you going to start a pharmaceutical business out on the corner?” He angled his chin down and gave Methos an incredulous look over the top of the slip of paper. 

“No. That’s what we found at the Immortal’s warehouse. In a fridge.”

“Drug addict.” Joe flipped the paper out of his hands and it landed on the bar top. “Not uncommon. Immortals are just as prone as the rest of us.”

“I know. But I don’t think that’s it. Do you remember a few years ago, when Cassis Benne lost his head?”

Joe huffed air. “Of course I remember. Benne was a contender. Some said he was in the same league as Mac. Nearly a thousand years old, trained under the best. Charismatic as all hell. Half the time he didn’t even have to fight, he talked his opponents into going to get a beer instead.” Joe grew animated. He waved one arm around as if he was teaching a lesson to especially dense fourth-grade children. “And he was in his bed. Not even a fight. But as far as we could tell, no foul play. Like he just laid there and let someone take his head. Strange, and what was even stranger, was that no one saw who did it. We started an internal investigation over it.” He pointed a finger at Methos. “Like that other bad business. We thought maybe some Hunters were around again, taking out the favorites. I didn’t sleep for weeks.”

“And?”

“And? And what? What!” Joe threw his arms up. “Investigation came up with squat. And Benne was still dead, and we had to file it under Unknown Victor.” He nearly growled. Filing Unknown Victor was a mark against the Watchers. Sometimes it had to be done, given demands in manpower and the way Immortals tended to fight in remote locations, but any Watcher worth his or her salt would get their dander up when talking about an Immortal that had been assigned, an Immortal that had a Watcher. Methos made a placating motion. 

“I know that. But your team did an autopsy, right?”

Joe glared so hard at Methos that he thought for a moment that his eyes might burn right out of his head. “No. And you know that already. Coroner’s office got to him first. We got the report, but of course the cause of death was the decapitation.”

“No toxicology results?”

Joe narrowed his eyes. “You know there’s always a backlog on that.”

“Did anyone ever go back when it was ready?”

Joe didn’t answer. He moved to his laptop, which was humming on the bar top, ready for use. It took him less than three minutes to come up with an answer. “No. Tickler file is still attached, but the Watcher assigned to it got promoted. So no one ever did.”

Methos laced his fingers together and cracked them away from him. “Maybe it is about time someone did.” He shooed Joe away from the lap top. “Time for a bit of digging.”

“And what do you think you’ll find?” Joe asked. 

“Don’t know until we look, do we?” Methos said, but something in his gut told him that he was going to find out quite a bit. 

***** 

The Immortal in the long black coat didn’t have to wait for long. 

The Immortal waiting for him didn’t stay longer than an hour, and then left on foot. He didn’t even twitch in his hiding place while he waited for the other to go. All was still and dark, silent and serene. He was like a ghost, observing and not being observed. 

He didn’t like the situation at all. Something about it squeaked of set-up. One Immortal goes in as bait, waiting for him to pounce, and the other Immortal steps in with drawn sword to Challenge. No, he didn’t like those odds at all, and the internal instincts of a dozen Quickenings inside him were whispering to hold off, to wait, to not risk anything just yet. 

He debated his options. 

Now was the time to go into his area. Collect everything important, and escape. He had other places he could go. 

But his fingers fairly itched to get his hands on these Immortals. Perhaps he was getting too greedy. 

No, he decided. He wouldn’t go in at all. They had seen his place, his belongings. If he went in and disturbed anything, and they returned, they would know he had been back. It was far better to be a shadow amongst shadows. 

He retreated back to his vehicle and debated for a moment. Then he put it into drive and went to the bar where he’d tracked them all before. His best plan was to not be hasty. He was far better at research and observation. He needed to know much more about this group that was hunting him. 

He parked in the same spot as before, a small habit he allowed for himself this time as the spot was still the best place for watching, as well as being far enough away not to be sensed. He could see the other vehicles in the lot and knew at least two people were in the bar. 

He wondered what they were doing inside. He hoped they were drinking. Inebriated Immortals were always easier to subdue. 

*****

“What are you doing?” Joe asked. 

Methos stared intently at the screen in front of him and tapped away at the keys. “Hacking into the medical examiner’s computer system. Well, not exactly hacking. That would imply I didn’t have access in the first place.”

“You have access?” Joe asked, one eyebrow raised, and an incredulous expression forming frown lines on his forehead. 

“Of course.” Methos typed in an id and then a password. “It’s amazing what sorts of things you can learn at a part-time job. Even when you’re just there to do menial tasks.” He sent a grin at Joe. “Or an internship. I love doing internships. They leave you in the files to sort things out, but there are all sorts of interesting things to find out in the files.” 

“You infiltrated the medical examiner’s office,” Joe said. “And stole all their secrets.”

Methos gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s a hobby.” He frowned at the screen and navigated through the interface. “Here we are. Benne’s toxicology report. They have to send it out, they don’t do it in-house, so they scan the file in.”

“I noticed,” Joe said dryly. “Mimeographing used to be clearer.”

Methos scrolled down the page. “Here we are.” 

Joe gave a low whistle. “Lot of narcotics in his system.”

“Yes,” Methos said and studied the list of chemicals. “And very close to what we found in the fridge.”

“So, what? He dopes up his target and takes his head. He wouldn’t be the first Immortal to try that trick.”

“No,” Methos agreed. “He wouldn’t be. But then why would he bother to drag the person back to his hideout?”

“Easier clean up?”

“Maybe.” Methos drummed his fingers on the bar top. “There’s something else going on here.” He shook his head, tried to clear the cob-webby feeling in his brain, but whatever it was wouldn’t come to him. He saved a copy of the toxicology file to Joe’s computer. “There,” he said. “Present for you. Don’t forget to remove the tickler file.”

“Now what?” Joe asked. 

“MacLeod and Olivia and I go back to his place and wait for him again. See if he shows up. In the meantime, we should get some sleep.” Methos took out his cell phone and gave it a quick thumb-through. A single text message told him that MacLeod and Olivia’s ploy to pull the rogue Immortal out of hiding either hadn’t worked, or the rogue Immortal hadn’t been there for it to work. So much for the odd gambit. Methos tucked the phone away. There was no sense in worrying Joe with plots and plans he didn’t need to worry about. Methos felt a surge of relief too. Joe wasn’t worried because he didn’t know, but Methos had been ready to drum his fingers through the table with stress. 

Joe glanced to the clock. “It’s late. Want to stay on my couch for the night?”

“You’re a true friend, Joe. A couch is as good as a king’s ransom in the wee hours of the night.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with you.” 

Methos just laughed. 

*****

The Immortal in the long black coat watched as the light went out inside the bar structure. He was confident there were living quarters above the bar. So he could safely surmise that the people in the bar had gone to bed for the night. He still waited another half hour, watching, but no one came out and no one went in. 

He was tired, he realized. He had started to nod off in the seat, and that was dangerous. He might not know what would go on while he was gone, but it was better than being found asleep in his car, and easy pickings for this group of hunting Immortals. He turned his car on, let the engine warm up for a minute, and then slowly drove off into the night. He couldn’t go back to his home. It was too dangerous to sleep there. The Immortals would either be there in a group, or they would sneak in one at a time, hoping to catch him unawares, and claim his Quickening. There was no way to share a Quickening, of that he was sure. 

He still felt that he had the upper hand on these Immortals, and if he waited long enough, kept watch enough, they would make themselves available, and ripe for him to take down. It would only require a few minutes of inattention. A minor slip. 

He drove to a very swanky hotel. They might try to look for him at cheaper flea-bag motels, but they were less likely to be able to scour the high-end establishments. His safety was almost guaranteed. 

The room was lush, with a thick carpet and gleaming fixtures. The bed felt like a dream, and he sank his weary bones down into it, grateful for the respite. Tomorrow would be difficult. Either he would watch and wait, or he would take action. A hum of emotional energy started inside him—the thrill of the chase, the ecstasy of the assimilation of the Quickening. He hadn’t had enough time to learn about the other two Immortals. What secret abilities did they possess? What would he soon be able to do that he’d never done before?

He fell asleep dreaming of the wildest things imaginable. 

In the morning, he took his time at breakfast. He enjoyed the eggs and the bacon, and he downed two great glasses of orange juice, and sipped at his coffee. There was no rush. They would all be traipsing over to his home. He knew where they would be. 

After reading the paper from front to back and slurping through another latte, flecked with nutmeg and cinnamon, he finally decided to leave. 

He collected his car and settled in for the rest of the day, come what may. He even hummed a tune as he drove out to his home, to hide on the outskirts, and to see what there was to see. 

He wasn’t disappointed. The three Immortals had returned. Their vehicles—two this time—were parked as before, and he could see flickers of movement through the few scattered windows. 

Then, he was surprised when a third car rolled into the lot. He couldn’t help but start to grin as two men got out of the car. One was the older bartender that he had previously identified, and the other was the lanky male Immortal that had actually seen his face. Lovely. The Immortal was moving slowly, waiting for the bartender. 

This was his opportunity. 

In the midst of their hunting him, he would poach one of them. He spent a moment to double-check his decision—he had to move and act fast—but all his instincts, and those gleaned from every other Immortal, were pushing him forward. If he acted quickly and didn’t make any big mistakes, he would have a prize, and take down one of the Immortals hunting him. Even if he did make a mistake, and lost his prey, he lost nothing. They already knew where he lived, they had already identified him, and he would be in his car and able to get away for almost all of the endeavor. The risk involved was low and acceptable. 

He started his car and drove swiftly and surely into the lot, his head ringing from the Immortal signature in his head. He turned the car so it was broadside to the two men, close enough to throw coffee in their faces, and used the taser on the bartender. He went down. Then, left-handed, because he had trained hours to use his left-hand as smoothly as his right, he used his pistol to shoot the Immortal in the chest. He went down, toppling over onto the bartender. 

Usually he didn’t prefer to shoot his opponents, it caused far too much damage, even if it healed physically—but the stress of dying meant there would be a lot of adrenaline flowing through the bloodstream for a while. But the opportunity had been too much. 

He was out of the car in two quick moves, and hauled the male Immortal into the trunk without too much trouble, and without trying to be nice about how he got stuffed inside. It was good he was dead, otherwise he’d probably be pissed off with the thunking his head had taken. He produced a knife and stabbed into the Immortal’s heart. Now he’d stay dead for the trip, and be safe to remove later. 

The bartender was still down on the ground, eyes rolled up into his head, and the Immortals inside hadn’t yet come out, so they might not have even noticed a thing. 

He got into the car and decidedly didn’t drive over the bartender. He didn’t want to kill mortals. He was just playing the Game in his own fashion. 

As he left the lot, he hit the speed-hump at the opening of the drive and heard a loud thump. Ouch, he thought. 

He wasn’t sure, but he thought perhaps, in his rear-view mirror, he caught sight of the female and other male Immortal coming out of his warehouse. Served them right. It wasn’t very nice to hang about in his space, keeping him from it. 

Then, he was gone, and no one was fast enough to pursue him. 

***** 

“MacLeod and Olivia got here at dawn,” Methos said as he exited the car. He looked around, but didn’t sense anyone. “Nothing yet.”

Joe snorted as he got out of the car and slowly started to follow. “Not like we got to sleep in.”

“I told you, I suddenly remembered what had been tickling at the back of my brain.”

“And had to make a long distance phone call on my tab.”

“I’ll pay you back--” And the loud sound of a car bursting through the drive and into the lot tore his attention away. He had started to go for his gun, but he’d had to jump back, and pull Joe with him—the car had looked as if it would have hit them both. Then, Joe went down, falling out of his grasp, and the next thing Methos knew, there was a painful jolt to his chest, and then nothing. 

***** 

The Immortal in the long black coat drove straight out of the city. 

He’d seen a dilapidated barn when he’d first scouted the area and had kept it in mind for emergency use, and this suited that expectation. He had a mostly unknown Immortal dead in his trunk, and was being hunted by his three friends, and his own base of operations had been invaded and become unsafe and unusable. Adrenaline was coursing through him, making everything seem to happen very quickly, sights and sounds rushing at him. His hands on the wheel were jumpy and unsteady, and he felt like he might break into bits and pieces. It was both exhilarating and frightening. He’d been right about the capture—it had gone smoothly and had little risk of going wrong. Now the risk resided in other aspects of dealing with the Immortal. Usually he had everything completely planned out, but he had to make a few lightning-fast decisions to complete this undertaking. He’d never intended to take a risk quite like this, but he would have to deal with his own impetuosity now. 

As he drove, checking his rearview mirror incessantly, he was able to organize his thoughts. He had a place to go. He had some of his concoction in the car. Was it enough to take down the Immortal in the trunk? He wasn’t sure. He could try it and see. 

If it was, the answer was easy—he would take the Immortal’s head, and with it all his power and essence, and skills. He wondered what sort of skills he would receive. This had been a happenstance serendipitous kidnapping. He had no idea if the Immortal even had any skills. He could be useless. He could be freshly minted and hardly able to wield a letter opener. Or he could be a depth of knowledge. He hoped for the later. But it didn’t matter either way. A head was a head, and Quickening energy never really went to waste. Especially since he had the drugs to make sure that he absorbed it, instead of the important parts leaking everywhere into the environment and being lost. 

If he wasn’t put into a happy stupor by the drugs, he could kill the man, leave him tied and dead, and go and procure more drugs. He would have to go north--to Cascade--to retrieve the necessary drugs. He couldn’t risk going back to Seacouver. It was entirely too busy with his three searchers. He wouldn’t try to drive around with a dead body in his trunk any more than necessary, either. The last thing he needed were the mortal police mucking around in his business, and they certainly wouldn’t understand about a not-really-dead dead body in the trunk. 

Then he could return, drug the man properly, and take his head then. 

The waiting would drive him to frustration, but the reward would be great, so it was worth the small risk it presented. 

He pulled up to the barn, which had part of its roof collapsed in, but was solid at its base and along three sides. The car would tuck neatly behind it, not visible from the road at all. 

***** 

Methos woke twice in the darkness of the trunk. His chest was full of sharp pain, stealing his breath and slicing through his thoughts, and he wasn’t able to pull out the knife before succumbing to death again. 

When he finally woke a third time, he was no longer in the trunk, but trussed quite expertly at hands and feet, and with his face on the gritty floor of some old, dusty, shadowy structure. As things came more into focus and he rolled himself upright he could see it was a barn. 

“Ah,” the man said. “You’re awake.” And he instantly lunged forward with a syringe. 

Methos felt the prick of the needle, and the hot pain that accompanied the push of fluid. Either the man wasn’t an expert at that, or he wanted the drug to be subcutaneous. “What was that?” he asked. 

“Something of my own invention,” the man said. His face was washed out in the pale light, but he was the same man that Methos had seen days ago.

“What’s it for?” Methos asked. He was able to lean back against the rough wall behind him, although it was awkward and uncomfortable, he had been awkward and uncomfortable many times before in his life, and this was nothing he couldn’t deal with. 

The man gave him a calculating look. “Adrenaline is the enemy, you know. With these drugs, you become calm and complacent. So when I take your Quickening, I will be able to actually take your abilities. So much is lost when we fight. All that energy, all that blind panic. It clouds the skills. It keeps the passage from being pure.”

“You take the skills and abilities? The knowledge?” Methos echoed. He thought back to his conversation with Joe about Cassis Benne. It would make sense. “You’re able to actually assimilate them?”

“Yes,” the man said, his eyes flashing. “Yes.” 

Methos laughed. “That’s a neat trick, then. Stealing talents that aren’t yours.”

He leaned in to study Methos’ face, a slight frown marring his expression. “It’s not stealing,” he said. “I earn them.”

Methos snorted. “Through snake-oil trickery.” He stared down the man. He could feel the drugs working in him, making his mind loose, and every ache and pain start to vanish. He felt a bit floaty. He hardened his face, and doubled-down on his concentration. This man was waiting for him to get dopey. “You might take the abilities. But you never earned them. Not the way the original Immortal did. And you’ll never be as good as they were, no matter the talent.” Methos grinned at the man, giving defiance even as he felt like wispy clouds on the inside. He’d been blindingly drunk any number of times in his life, and he’d done countless reckless things. A little drug like this was not going to get him killed. He leaned back even more, the picture of insouciance. “How long until it starts to work?” he asked. 

“It should have already,” the man said. He looked entirely displeased. “Looks like I’ll have to get a fresh batch. Until then—“ He took out a gun and shot Methos in the heart, and even as he died, more vulnerable than ever, Methos realized he’d bluffed his way into a little more time of survival. He hoped it would be enough for MacLeod and Olivia. And, even though he’d said it was too dangerous, he hoped Joe had actually put a Watcher on the damned man. 

*****

The man in the long black coat drove back from Cascade. It had taken an hour longer than he’d planned on, to procure the appropriate drugs, but he’d been able to do it. He’d passed nearly half a dozen law enforcement vehicles, hidden in dips and around curves, their occupants pointing laser guns down the road, and he’d been forced to maintain the speed limit. He had left his prisoner behind for just such a reason—the risk of his being discovered had been too great, and although he did not like that he’d had to leave him unattended, he felt justified in doing so. Even if he somehow managed to get away, it only meant one less Quickening to absorb, instead of the sticky morass of mortal laws and prisons. 

The barn was only a mile away now and the anxiety was building in his chest. He had no reason to believe all would not be as he left it. He had shot the Immortal and then placed the knife in his chest again, to keep him from reviving. He should find a dead man waiting for him. 

He glanced to the hidden compartment where he had placed the contraband pharmaceuticals. He had tried several times to take heads while the other Immortal was dead, with little success. There was still the Quickening, immense and unimaginable and unexplainable, but it was not the conduit of power and knowledge that he was able to derive when he’d doped the Immortal up to the gills. They had to be awake, and like a lamb to the slaughter. It was their acquiescence, their peaceful waiting, that seemed to allow the spigot of all that they were to be consumed. He assumed there had to have been times when an Immortal had willingly given his or her head to another—he couldn’t fathom it, but he could imagine that some situation or circumstance would have necessitated it at some point—and he wondered if that was the genesis of what he was doing now. Or if what he was doing was just a quirk of nature, even of biology, though immortality seemed more mystical than natural, at least to him. There was no doubting it, but certainly there was no explaining it yet within the framework that humans had devised for their own schema. Darwin seemed to have no place in Immortal business. 

In any case, he doubted that deep philosophical musings on the subject hardly mattered. It was a fight to the death. There could be only one. That was how he had to play the Game. 

He rolled to a stop in front of the dilapidated barn. It was as quiet as ever, and he retrieved the drugs with trembling hands. He spent a minute taking deep breaths, controlling his emotions. He needed to be steady. 

He took a few steps toward the barn opening and felt the prickling rush of a Quickening come over him. His prey was still in the barn. 

*****

Methos gasped with pain and relief when the knife was pulled from his chest. 

He looked up through his watering, hazy eyesight to see Olivia staring down at him, a crease between her eyebrows the only indication that she was extremely worried, because the rest of her expression was set with cold, hard fury. 

“About time you got here,” he said between clenched teeth as he waited for his body to finish healing. 

“Next time leave breadcrumbs,” she said. She stood up with her hands on her hips. “I had the devil of a time finding you. Your friend, Joe, only had the vaguest notion where you’d been taken, and he was cagey about it. Are you sure you trust him?”

“Yes,” Methos said, giving her the shortest answer. He wasn’t going to go into all of it, he didn’t have the energy. 

“Duncan and I split up,” Olivia continued to explain. “To cover more ground.”

“How long?” Methos asked as Olivia bent down to cut the ropes, and Methos closed his eyes for a moment as the blood started to go back into the limbs. It hurt. 

“Four hours,” Olivia said. “What happened? Where is he?”

Methos took a moment to concentrate and then tried to stand up. He almost instantly flopped back over. He’d been dead and hours had passed, but his system hadn’t been working the drugs out, so he was still as high as a kite. “Drugs,” he said. “He’s drugging Immortals before taking their head, to get more out of their Quickening. I made him think the drugs hadn’t worked on me, and he went to get more.”

Olivia snorted as she watched Methos try to get up again. “Neat trick,” she said. “Both your acting and his little scheme. Sounds like he’s a big, fat faker.” Methos could see the slow burn of anger in her eyes, though, and knew her words were more flippant than she really felt. 

“Something like that.” He tried to stand again and the room spun like a top. “Let’s get out of here if I have to crawl,” he said, “and we can beat him up next time.”

Olivia bent down to put her shoulder under Methos’ arm, and they both froze. The distinctive crunch of dirt and gravel signaled that someone had just driven a vehicle into the area outside the barn. 

“He’s back,” she whispered. 

Methos spent a moment to breathe. He was in no shape yet to fight the man. It’d be at least another half hour before he’d gotten the bulk of the drugs out of his system. “Can you take him?” he asked. Olivia was good, but she wasn’t MacLeod. At the moment, flight wasn’t an option for him, though it was for her, but he knew she wouldn’t leave without him. That wasn’t in her nature. 

“I don’t think I have a choice,” she whispered back. She eased Methos back to the ground. “Act like you’re still tied up,” she said. “I parked my car a quarter mile away and walked in, so he won’t realize I’m here.” She grabbed the knife that she had removed and frowned as she quickly tried to replace it, without piercing him, so it looked intact. “It’ll have to do.” She grimaced. “Stall as long as you can. Let those drugs get out of your system. Just in case he takes me, you’ll have to defend yourself. I’ll hide and challenge him before he goes for you.”

Methos nodded. It wasn’t a great plan, in fact it was terrible, but it was a better plan than waiting for his own demise. He patted down his coat—most of his cache had already been removed, but he had one small blade secreted along a hem that no one had ever found. It took a moment of fumbling to activate the blade. He pulled the edge of his coat back, to hide it in his hand, still looking as if he were tied, but now he could stab with the knife. He’d end up with a hole in his coat, but that was the whole point of the subterfuge. At the last moment, he pulled the discarded rope over his ankles to at least simulate that he was still tied.

Olivia melted back into the shadows. He knew she was there, but not exactly where. 

The Immortal outside came closer and Methos could feel his presence grate over him as if a thousand mosquitoes had stung all at once—an unbearable, growing itch. His kidnapper would feel the presence as well, and his own and Olivia’s would be masked as a single one. It was one of those oddities that an Immortal did well to not forget. 

Methos slumped back, his hand still on the knife, and waited. 

***** 

Something wasn’t right. 

The man in the long black coat surveyed the inside of the barn. 

He sniffed the air and listened, but he couldn’t figure out what had set his internal warnings off. The air was calm, still laced with the stagnant off-scent of a barn well used once upon a time. The ground was hard packed and didn’t show anything useful in terms of movement. The other Immortal was slumped exactly where he’d left him, and he could see the handle of the knife still protruding from his chest. That hadn’t changed at all. 

Yet, something was different. It was an instinct he had cultivated, in fact, this instinct was one gleaned from a very particular Immortal that he had hunted not so long ago. The newness of the skill had given him a bit of annoyance—having the skill and then developing it so that he could make best use of it had been frustratingly slow. In this moment, he thought, the original Immortal would have known why his instincts were warning him. But he did not. 

He scanned the space again, but nothing moved and nothing seemed to be out of place. He moved slowly over to his prey. Was he lying slightly differently? Was his head twisted just a bit too much? Was his breathing too even?

Breathing!

The Immortal jumped backwards just as the Immortal on the ground lunged forward, and he felt the sting of something slice across him. He kicked high and the other Immortal went down, his eyes rolling up into his head. 

“How did you get that knife out?” he asked the senseless body on the floor. The breathing had finally given him away – he shouldn’t have been breathing at all. He cursed himself for not realizing the significance of the breathing sooner. “And how did you get untied? And how--” Those gleaned instincts kicked in again—warning him, setting his teeth on edge and his bones jumping from inside his skin practically out. He pulled his sword. 

“I freed him,” came a soft voice, dark with determination and anger. 

The Immortal swiveled on his feet, sword out in front of him. It was the female. The one he had hunted and followed, and stalked for many days. She was here, and she had a wickedly sharp sword in her hands, and a low-centered stance that spoke volumes about how much she was looking forward to fighting. 

He had only a moment to decide. He could take her, of that he was sure. There was an eagerness thrumming in him, of the many Immortal skills he had layered, of the souls inside him that yearned for a real fight, not the sneaking and skulking that he had used. He felt hyper-aware, and hyper-vigilant. He was ready. He could take her—feel the rush of her Quickening-- 

“No,” he said. Was he insane? Waste her Quickening because the junkies inside him were clawing to demonstrate all the skills he had accumulated. Then, to possibly lose his own head? He was better than her, he had no doubt, but there was always luck. Damned luck, and its ill-fatedness. “I think not,” he spat out. 

The other Immortal was still behind him, and a danger. That kick to the head wouldn’t keep him down for much longer. It was all too exciting, happening too fast. He pulled his gun from the secreted holster at his back, and shot the woman. She went down on one knee, but didn’t die. He shot her again. 

“Cheater,” she said. “Someone’s going to get you one of these days.” She still wasn’t dead, but glared up at him from the ground as bubbles of red foamed at her mouth. 

He took a step to the side and plugged two more into the male Immortal on the ground. 

He was so out of here. Time to find another city.

***** 

Methos woke to the sound of the clang of swords. 

“What--”

Olivia was next to him, slumped over his hips like she’d fallen from the loft and landed there like a wet hay bale. She eyed him and he noticed that her mouth was stained with blood. She was gritty and covered in dirt, a streak of it down her face and her hands looked like she’d been gardening in drab soil. Well, her head was still on, and apparently so was his, so all wasn’t lost. 

“—happened?” he asked, the words croaking out of his throat. Killed, killed again, drugged, and kicked, and shot. He was not having a good day. The clanging sound was getting louder and more frequent. People were fighting outside the barn. The rest of it was a bit foggy. 

Olivia mouthed some words, but he didn’t understand, and then she closed her eyes and died. 

Methos didn’t bother to try to move her, or himself. The drugs were still in his system and he felt like he might vomit. Olivia would revive in a few minutes. Possibly the clanging would continue, or it wouldn’t. 

He stared at Olivia and wondered exactly what he’d missed in the past few minutes, and how important it had been. His sight floated off to the left and then to the right and wouldn’t settled down. He moved his head. If he threw up, he at least didn’t want to be sick all over himself or Olivia. Moving his head, however, had been a huge mistake, and he felt infinitely worse. He then spent a substantial amount of effort in keeping himself from disgorging his stomach. 

Suddenly, there was the sound of a shot fired, and the clanging noise stopped. 

Methos had a bad feeling about that.

***** 

The Immortal in the long black coat was barely holding his own. 

Skills leapt to his fingertips, memories honed in other muscles moved him left and right before he knew he had made decisions to move. He was fighting as he’d never fought before, bringing out abilities that several old, skilled fighters had given him when he’d taken their heads. Memories of other fights flickered through his mind, fights he’d never been in, but had absorbed. He couldn’t process them, could only let them flow through and around him, and out his arms, and to hold his spine in tandem with instincts that he’d never had himself. 

Even with all of that – or perhaps more because of it – he was hardly managing to dodge careful advances, dangerous slices, and perfect footwork. His opponent—the other male Immortal--had shown up at just the moment that he had tried to flee. He wasn’t sure if all the skills and abilities he had so carefully arranged to absorb over the years were doing him more good than harm. Nothing was integrated inside his skull. It jumbled up, leaking out, sometimes at odds with each other. Move left, no—right! High defense posture. No! Take a lower stance. The weight of his sword felt odd and heavy in his hand, as if he wanted for a different sword altogether—or different swords, as each Immortal incorporated inside him yearned for the heft and balance of their own blades. 

Each Immortal he’d gleaned from had been so different, the styles ever at odds, never meshing—each one having found their own special way to fit their own bodies, their own height and weight—that he’d only ever picked randomly from the skill sets. He’d never quite had time to go through all of the memories, had never needed to because he didn’t try to fight his battles up front, and now, in his blind panic, all of these things were overwhelming him. 

They were keeping him alive, too. 

This male Immortal was fantastic. Controlled, deadly, textbook moves, and perfectly balanced. Without the wild swings of style and technique, keeping him on his guard, the Immortal in the long black coat knew he’d have been dead five minutes ago. 

Five minutes too long to be fighting. 

There was the barest break in the blows and he reached for his gun. It was cold and firm in his hand, familiar as his sword was not, and he did not hesitate to squeeze the trigger. 

The other Immortal took three bullets before he went down. He gasped for air, trying to reclaim equilibrium and control his blind panic, as he watched his opponent bleed out, with his eyes still open and glaring daggers of hatred and fury at him. All his technique and moves were useless now, because he was dead and perfectly vulnerable. 

Kill him, the voices whispered in his head. Take his head. 

With the floodgates opened in his mind, the Quickenings of the dozen or so Immortals he had taken were all whipped up into a vengeful mass, banging on the inside of his skull. The whispers turned into a cacophony of howling orders, the beating of demands went up-tempo, like a drum solo gone haywire. 

Kill him, take him, behead him. Take the Quickening. There can be only one. 

“No!” he shouted out loud. He gulped in air. He had to move. The Immortal on the ground would not stay dead for long, and the two inside the barn would be out shortly as well. 

It was time to run. 

He hurried to his car and clambered in. His hands were slick with sweat and shaking. It took four tries to engage the key, and another precious thirty seconds to remember to put the car into gear and drive. A cloud of dust rose behind his wheels as he spun out, the back of the car shuddering side to side, kicking up stones, but then he was on the road. 

The three Immortals were behind him, and he had a good head start. He charted a course in his head, and knew he would have to lay low for a very long time, and rebuild. He had a hidey-hole near, and a few that were far. He decided there couldn’t be enough distance between himself and those behind him. And even though he left those three Immortals behind him, the ones in his head refused to be still. 

The voices kept raining down upon him, until there was very little room left inside his own skull for himself. 

***** 

 

Methos woke again in the car. The window was open, gorging him with fresh air, but it was really noisy to have the wind rushing past the opening. He pushed himself up, and realized he was in the back seat of a moving vehicle. 

“Finally!” said someone from the front, and it took Methos a moment to realize it was Joe. 

“Joe?” he asked. He looked around. “Where’s Olivia? What happened?” Methos rolled up the window so he could hear the reply. 

“She’s in her car, about forty feet ahead of me. We’re going to meet at the bar. MacLeod’s behind me, in his car. You’ve got a security detail.” Joe chuckled. 

Methos peered forward and then glanced back. Olivia’s car was in front, and MacLeod’s was behind. He could see Duncan’s face through the windshield, and he looked stone-faced. “Sounds good,” he said. “But what happened?”

“He let you go. All of you. And ran. I think he had a screw loose. After you were taken in the car, I got on the horn. I didn’t have any Watchers on the guy, but Olivia had a Watcher, and she made the decision to follow. Bless her and bless her cool thinking. So, she followed you and called in your location. It didn’t take long to get out there, but there was enough of a gap that we were worried what we’d find.”

Methos interrupted. “He’d been shooting Immortals full of narcotics, to keep them calm and fuzzy, then taking their heads. As a mechanism to smooth out the transfer of the Quickening, and not lose all the valuable skills. He had the drugs and gave them to me, but I bluffed him and made him think I wasn’t affected, so he ran off to get more drugs.”

“And by then Olivia had gotten there.”

“Why didn’t MacLeod come with her?”

“Olivia’s Watcher didn’t really give very good directions. She followed you, but she’s a city girl, and once out in the countryside she got her roads and distances mixed up. There were three old dilapidated barns out there. We split up and one of us went to each.”

“Glad there weren’t four,” Methos muttered. 

Joe still heard him. “Me too, buddy.”

“Then what? The last thing I remember was Olivia collapsed on top of me.”

“Mac got there before me, and was fighting with the guy. He got shot and went down, but the guy ran off. Katherine, Olivia’s Watcher, said he’d grabbed his head and was screaming out, talking to people that weren’t there. Then he drove off like all the demons of hell were after him.”

Methos mulled that over. “Perhaps his method of taking Quickenings was not to his liking after all,” he said. 

Joe glanced back at him, curiosity written all over his face. “How so?”

“It seems to me that it’d be difficult to separate out a learned skill from the personality that went with it.”

Joe was quiet for a long moment. “So his brain got overwhelmed.” He shook his head. “You guys have all sorts of issues. Hell of a way to live.”

“Yeah. Now what? Did Katherine go after him?”

“Yes. I was on my way to the scene, so she kept up with him. She called in about 5 minutes before you woke up, and he’s still driving like a bat out of hell. We’ll have to arrange for others to pick up the tail, I think he’s going to run for a while before he stops.”

“You’ll have to keep an eye on him. He might reconsider what he’s done, but he might not.”

Joe frowned. “You wouldn’t go after him again,” he said, making it more of a statement than a question. 

“I don’t like his methods,” Methos said darkly. “But if he’s been taking as many heads as I think, he’s going to need a really long time to incorporate them into his psyche. A few lifetimes at least. If he runs into any Immortals before he’s figured his head out, I wouldn’t lay very good odds on his survival.”

“You think someone else is going to take his head pretty soon,” Joe said. 

“Maybe.”

“Huh,” Joe said, and they were both quiet as he continued to drive. 

Joe pulled the car over to the right and carefully maneuvered into a parking spot. “Home sweet home,” he said. 

Methos gathered himself up, and wished he didn’t smell quite so much like the floor of a rotting barn, and got out of the car. Olivia had parked right next to them and she hurried around to give him a hug. “Everyone lives,” she said, “not a bad way to end the day.” She’d somehow managed to mostly get the dirt and grime off her and only looked vaguely mussed. Methos thought he should ask her later on how she’d managed it. He was sure he looked like he’d been through hell and back, and smelled worse. 

MacLeod had also parked and came around to wrap his arms around both of them. “I’d never have forgiven myself if he’d killed either of you,” he said in a low growling voice. Methos patted him on the back. There wasn’t anything to say to that. He wanted to tell the man that was the way of Immortal life, but MacLeod already knew that. And deep down, if the situation had been reversed, Methos wouldn’t have easily accepted the loss of either of his two friends. He had so few truly trustworthy ones, and both Olivia and Duncan were both precious beyond compare. Methos kissed Olivia on the forehead and slapped MacLeod’s back one more time for good measure, and saw over MacLeod’s shoulder that Joe was beaming at them. Obviously he was glad they weren’t dead, too. Then Joe shook his head and gave a heavy sigh. 

“I’m going in to have a drink,” he said. “Anyone else want to join me?”

MacLeod laughed and Olivia piped up, “Only if you’re buying!” The three of them disengaged from their hugging to follow Joe inside the bar. 

Methos brushed at a glob of yuck that was on the lapel of his coat and hoped it wasn’t leftover vomit. The taste in his mouth was truly awful. “Whatever you’re having, Joe, I’ll have two.” 

“Not on my tab you aren’t,” Joe shot back, “Besides you don’t know what I’m drinking.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

“Good point,” Methos said and gave MacLeod a cheeky grin. “Then I’ll have two of whatever MacLeod is having.”

MacLeod made a rude gesture at him. 

Olivia linked her arm through Methos’. “I’ll buy you a beer,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the smell. “If you throw that coat away. Or, even better, burn it to cinders. ”

“Deal.”


End file.
